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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22761739">Roaring Twenties</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookofOdym/pseuds/BookofOdym'>BookofOdym</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkraiinbow/pseuds/drunkraiinbow'>drunkraiinbow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ant-Man (Movies), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Not Ant-Man and the Wasp (2018) Compliant, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 11:54:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,351</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22761739</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookofOdym/pseuds/BookofOdym, https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkraiinbow/pseuds/drunkraiinbow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry Pym has spent the last few decades secluding himself from humanity, unfortunately for him, his successor decides to drag him to a celebration. Meeting Steve Rogers opens him up to new experiences.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hank Pym/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Roaring Twenties</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>There is some mention of Hank's comic background and villains, just in order to flesh things out.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I don’t see why I have to come,” Hank said, taking a long drink of his tea, “you can go party with your friends, but I’m perfectly fine here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scott pouted at him, a look that had absolutely no effect on Hank, as he turned a page in an old dog eared book, pulled out a red pen, and started scribbling on the page. Most of the pages were covered in red ink, there probably wasn’t a single paragraph that hadn’t been written over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just came back to life, and you could go out and have some fun, but instead, you’re sat in here, wrecking a copy of… what the fuck is Psychohistory?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm,” Hank closed the book, “an old rival of mine decided that he wanted to invent his own science. It’s hard to explain, but suffice to say, every word of it is bullshit. Unfortunately, I was never able to tell Reed that before he disappeared, and I hope to disprove his theory if he ever makes his way back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scott groaned. “You can’t just live in the past, I get that you miss your friend-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My rival,” Hank corrected him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get that you miss your friend, but this is the perfect opportunity for you to make new friends, come on. You’ll have fun. Banner will be there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank was visibly wavering at that, the best way to bribe him was the promise of talking about science with someone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, though, it was Hope that fully convinced him. “Come on, Dad, just for half an hour,” she said, pulling on her coat, “you can leave if you’re not having fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That had turned out to be a lie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank had been stuck at the party for over two hours, and other than his earlier conversation with Bruce Banner, he hadn’t enjoyed it much. People tended to avoid him, and if they didn’t, the conversation was generally uncomfortable. He’d probably have enjoyed the evening more if he’d found another way to tell Reed to suck it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was the thing with Hank, he tended to keep grudges for a long time: Elihas Starr (Who he maintained absolutely was planning on ruining him, people just... hadn’t believed him at the time), Bill Foster, of course, although they had previously had a good friendship with him. David Cannon, his wife’s old chauffeur who had... well, suffice to say thinking about him made Hank want to punch a wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then there was Howard Stark. Who had stolen Hank’s research for political and financial gain. The man had been a mentor, had found him in college (Henry had been finishing his doctorate at the same time that most people his age were undergraduate students) and offered him a job. Howard was an important part of his life, but Hank hadn’t even been able to go to his funeral.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, there was no way that he could leave like Hope had told him he could. His problems were twofold. First: He had allowed Hope to drive them, and she was refusing to relinquish the car keys. Second: Every time Tony Stark saw him making a move towards the door, trying to make an attempt at walking home, he circled around to cut him off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He managed to avoid Stark cornering him at the last moment by slipping inside an elevator, hitting the button for a random floor. It would be a few moments of peace and quiet, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a soft sigh, Hank leaned against the wall of the spacious cabin. The metal was pleasingly cool at the back of his head. He closed his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good evening, Dr. Pym,” a female voice suddenly spoke up. “May I be of assistance?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Startled at first, Hank opened his eyes and stared at the empty space in front of him before he remembered the AI Scott had not managed to mention. He certainly had not informed Henry about the Irish accent or the judgment dripping through the speakers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did Stark tell you that I’d try to escape?” Hank asked drily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are heading towards the second floor of the residential area, it is not the best route for escape. Would you like me to draw you a map of all the available exits?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank thought about it for a moment. “Maybe the one most relevant to me, which is the floor I’m going to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The quarters of a member of the Avengers.” Friday informed him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So they would probably be downstairs then, maybe he could take a moment to catch his breath, then think about what he should do from there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stepped off of the elevator into one of the most sparsely decorated rooms he’d ever seen, it was the quarters of a military man, ready to pack up and move on at a moment’s notice. That meant it definitely couldn’t be Stark’s. Thank God.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was rude to look around someone else’s quarters, and Hank certainly didn’t intend to do so, but he did step away from the elevator, and, as he did so, his ears picked up the sound of a shower running in the next room. He felt his cheeks heat up, and he turned back towards the elevator.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his misfortune, he saw the doors closing right in front of him. And no matter how often he punched the button, they just wouldn’t open again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no. Don’t do this to me,” Hank murmured and looked up to stare disapprovingly at one of the cameras. “I wish to leave, Friday.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence followed, making Hank raise his brows at the camera over the elevator. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could you be so kind as to open the stupid doors? “Hank tried again with a slight groan, but the Irish voice kept quiet. Anger flashing through his veins, Hank hit the button once more. “I bet that was all Stark’s idea,” he swore under his breath. Why had he trusted that stupid program in the first place and not jumped out of the window instead?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost tauntingly, the doors remained closed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somewhere behind him, the shower shut off. Hank froze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m pretty sure it was Friday’s idea. She likes to tease me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank didn’t dare to move, didn’t dare to take a breath. He had not seen that coming, had not dreamt of getting caught in an Avenger’s apartment by said freshly showered hero. At least the voice didn’t sound like Barnes or Rhodes or one of the spies. He didn’t want to think what would have happened if the Black Widow had found him in her quarters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, whoever he’d just walked in on seemed fine with continuing to talk without his input. “A few weeks ago, she let in some of my more extreme fans, lost a few old mementos to them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I must be a disappointment then. Didn’t look through your personal belongings, didn’t steal your underwear to sell it on eBay – she doesn’t seem to know me well. I thought Stark could do better than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He got a laugh in reply. “I’m glad about that, though. I’m already running short on underwear without you selling them. I’d be left with nothing to wear under my pants.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that so?” Hank gulped and bit down on his lip, staring at the ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which doesn’t mean you can’t turn around, you know? I’m not naked.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Letting out a small huff, Hank turned around slowly. There, in the door to the bathroom, stood a gorgeous blonde man. His hair was still wet, a few drops dripping on his bare chest, running down his hard muscles and flat stomach to disappear in the soft, very short towel he had wrapped around his waist. His legs didn’t look any less ripped – tall and muscular and damn thick – and Hank had to use all his willpower to not faint at the sight of the man. How could his eyes be so blue? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank cleared his throat. “You’re –”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve Rogers,” the man said with a wink at the same time Hank said, “– Captain America.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, fuck, maybe it was worse when you were a child of the 40s, to suddenly impose yourself on the man who you’d been raised to know saved everything. Maybe it would have been better to find himself in Black Widow’s quarters. “I should leave. Get out of your hair. I’m sorry for the inconvenience. – Friday? Would you be so kind as to let me out now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t mind the unexpected company. It’s nice to finally meet you, Dr. Pym. In-person I mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Captain?” He couldn’t believe that Captain America would know who he was, even though he knew that it probably was just that Scott had complained a little about the crazy old man who disowned him over the Civil War.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, it’s Steve.” The blond gave him the kind of smile that if he had been twenty years younger would have made him weak at the knees and red on the face, it still kind of did. All he knew was that he could not call Captain America by his first name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hank.” He said, trying to keep his eyes from dipping down to the younger man’s towel. It really didn’t hide anything. “But, I really should be going, I was trying to get out of the building without Stark catching me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve brought his hand up to his face, looking like he was deep in thought. Maybe he wasn’t willing to betray Stark like that, Hank thought, it wasn’t like the man knew him. Then he spoke. “There’s a fire exit, I can take you down that way.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>That night had certainly been an adventure, one that Hank was going to store in his brain in a folder marked “things he was going to try really hard not to think about because he was a stupid old man who couldn’t stop feeling things.” But, he supposed it wasn’t like he was going to be seeing Captain America again, the Avengers were Scott’s team. Hank would just have to decline to attend any future celebrations. He’d lived in solitude for a long time, and he could stand a few more years of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d always been somewhat paranoid, hadn’t really liked people, and he’d suffered from bipolar disorder since his youth, which was, in many ways, an isolating experience. His mental health had not particularly been helped by the death of his first wife, Maria, the mind-altering chemicals that he had been exposed to, or the disappearance of Jan. All in all, he had had no less than three breakdowns over the course of his life, and it was his working theory that for some people, isolation was just better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that Hank should have expected his luck to account for that, he shuffled into his lab late one morning, a few days after the party, with a cup of coffee in hand and a whole list of ideas for his microminiature blood vessels project. He probably should have expected that the phone that had barely been used during the last twenty years to start ringing off the hook.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was just no ignoring some people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, is this Pym?” Tony Stark’s voice drifted down the line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank slammed the phone down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It started ringing again a few moments later. “I’m not gonna let you avoid me,” Stark said jovially, “when are you free to talk?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I’m dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stark’s tone of voice didn’t change at all as he spoke. “Sometime this week should be fine then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank stared longingly at his equipment, even though it needed new labels, and the stoppers were missing from some of the containers, he had been looking forward to working with it. Now it looked like he wouldn’t be able too. “If I refuse, you’re just going to show up at my house, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Absolutely. Come on, Pym. I just want to show you my lab.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curses. His one weakness. Science.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Hank walked into Stark’s office a few days later, and the man stood up and greeted him warmly, which he would have regarded as suspicious had Hope not instructed him to be on his best behavior. It turned out that Scott had told Stark that Hank was the only one allowed to make repairs to the Ant-Man suit and that Stark had decided (by himself, without consulting anyone) that things would be easier if Hank joined the science team full time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had thought about refusing, just for the principle of things, but in the end, maybe his desire to help had outweighed his pettiness, and he ended up agreeing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the science team, so he was highly unlikely to be overwhelmed by human contact, and he did want to discuss some of Dr. Banner’s ideas with him in-depth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just hadn’t expected to run into Captain America, literally. Stark’s office was around the corner from the elevator, and on Hank’s way out, he walked directly into a wall of muscle. A soft grunt escaped his lips, and the younger man had to grip his forearms to steady him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ungh,” Rogers exhaled, it took a moment before his eyes traveled down to examine the person that he bumped into, “Dr Pym? You’re back and already on the run again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It seems,” Hank said, a little breathless because of the warm smile Steve was giving him, “and I still haven’t figured out how to sneak around Stark.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve laughed. “Wait until he disappears in his workshop. He's lucky that breathing is a subconscious activity, because I bet he could even forget that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank smiled without noticing. “Sounds familiar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh god, don’t tell me you’re the same?” Steve sighed, but his lips were still curled up in a soft grin. “I heard you’re going to work with us now. Sounds like I need to take care of another brilliant man with serious lack of self-preservation instinct.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you know?” Hank frowned. He was sure that since Scott and Hope hadn’t known about Stark’s offer this morning that the rest of the Avengers shouldn’t have heard about it either. “I only accepted two minutes ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve just shrugged and nodded towards the ceiling. “The vents have ears,” he explained and, when Hank blinked in confusion, added, “Hawkeye likes to squeeze in there.” — As if that would explain everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s good to know,” Hank said nevertheless before he suddenly rolled his eyes and took a step to the side. “I’m sorry, Captain. I sure am keeping you from your responsibilities.” Why did he not think of this earlier but started chatting with the super-soldier again? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A warm hand on his arm prevented Hank from thinking further. “I’m on my break now,” Steve replied with this warm smile again, voice firm but kind. “If you can call the few moments a day, I claim for myself a break. Being … me really is a full-time job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I’m taking up your only time to relax?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Steve paused, thinking for a moment, “how about coffee? My treat.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“You’re smiling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raising his eyebrows, Hank didn’t bother to look up from the Ant-Man suit he was working on. “Excuse me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re smiling,” Scott, who had been playing with a screwdriver for the past twenty minutes, replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank scowled. “Yes, Scott, “he said and rolled his eyes. “I am capable of smiling. I don’t see why this is such a breakthrough discovery.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a shrug, Scott put the screwdriver down. Finally. “I’ve rarely ever seen you smiling, but since you came back from your meeting with Tony, you have barely stopped.” He reached for an Erlenmeyer flask, tossing it between his hands like it was a ball. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank snatched it out of his hands, giving him a reproachful look. “And what, you think meeting Stark has me overjoyed?” Deflection was the only way to deal with this. “I’d be more happy about Banner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not particularly,” Scott replied and tried to grab the flask again, pouted when Hank cleared his throat. “Maybe you’re overjoyed because you’re going to work with us, be part of the team, you know?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “You won’t be an outsider anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can go fuck yourself, Scott. Seriously.” Hank turned to the suit on the workbench again, ignoring Scott’s hurt look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No need to be rude,” he said, but Hank had already tuned him out. He went right back to focusing on his work again (that he did for Scott, by the way), and if Scott continued to bother him, he would have to waste some of his considerable intelligence insulting him.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Apparently, working for, or with the Avengers, brought some unexpected benefits with it. Hank did not only gain access to a variety of company cars, but he also got his very own workshop in the Tower. If he had known that before, he may have accepted Stark’s job offer with less grumbling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was in a quieter part of the building, away from the living areas and the dining room, which meant that he could get lost in his work for hours, and did, the first day he was there he forgot to eat and sleep entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another breathtaking aspect of his workshop’s location was his neighbor. Hank had been keen to talk to Dr. Banner for a long time now, and the quiet hallways far away from Stark made for the perfect occasions to bump into the brilliant man, whenever Dr. Banner (Bruce as he was told to call him) left his laboratories. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So when the door to his lab opened unexpectedly, he was well within his rights to just assume it was Dr. Banner and started talking about his project that merged molecular physics, biochemistry, and cybernetics without even looking around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then the person got much closer than he thought they would, peering over his shoulder, and he got a distinct whiff of grass and tea tree right before a hand brushed up his ass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Captain,” he sighed, trying to cover up the way that his cheeks turned bright red in response. Hank had his dignity, and he wanted to keep it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So cold,” Captain America clearly had a smile quirking on his lips as he spoke, “I thought I told you to call me Steve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank rolled his eyes and huffed. “We’re at work, I thought calling you Steve was for a… more personal setting.” Except damn, that came out wrong. Almost as wrong as the time he’d told Howard Stark ‘when you’re around me, you’ll learn that size doesn’t matter.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve, thankfully, didn’t point out his blunder. “My friends call me Steve when we’re at work. We’re not a military unit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What’s with the possessive behavior? He wanted to ask, but then, he didn’t really have any evidence that Steve had touched his ass on purpose, accidental touch was much more likely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed, turning fully, even though that was obviously a mistake because now his chest was flush with Steve’s, and the red on his face would have been incredibly obvious. “Why did you come down here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve tilted his head as if examining him. “Bruce told me you moved in two days ago, but no one’s seen you in the kitchen since then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I eat at home.” Hank responded, although that was mostly a lie, standing around in the kitchen waiting for food to heat up was like asking for awkward interactions with other people. The longer you spent there, the higher the chances that someone would come in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t that he didn’t like people, it was just that… no, he didn’t really like other people. Ever since he was seven and the other kids would break his inventions for fun. Ever since, Stark had stolen his creations and used them for political and financial gain. Ever since, the only person who had ever understood him had shrunken down and disappeared forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Momentary concern flashed over the younger man’s face, and Hank realized that his own had probably been a little too open, but then Rogers clapped him on the shoulder with one hand. “Just as long as you’re eating.”</span>
</p>
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